


Lonely

by Sinclaironfire



Series: Duck Feels [2]
Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Beakley is the Best, Donald Duck does his best, Donald Duck feels, Donald Duck is a single parent, Donald Duck is the Best Dad, Donald Duck needs a hug, Dysfunctional Family, Family Drama, Family Feels, Happy Endings For All, I still don't know what a word limit is, Launchpad is everyone's friend, Money doesn't solve everything, Scrooge Is Bad at Feelings, Scrooge and Donald talk things out, Scrooge has issues, Scrooge hates the quiet, Scrooge is Isolated, Scrooge is Lonely, The boys growing up, The boys wondering where Della is, They keep him sane, Truly a single parent, Webby is a darling, she's so precious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2018-12-30 07:09:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12103422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinclaironfire/pseuds/Sinclaironfire
Summary: Donald and Scrooge handled their grief differently. Donald threw himself into raising the boys but Scrooge? The man was lonely.





	1. Donald

**Author's Note:**

> So, honestly, this was meant to be a five hundred word thing and it got totally out of control. See, I was trying to wrap my head around why someone like Scrooge keeps a walking disaster like Launchpad around and pays for literally everything that he destroys. Or why he keeps Beakley around. He's a self-made duck. He's done everything by himself and to have Beakley take care of everything is really out of character, I think. If he can do it himself and for free he would. But he doesn't so I'm guessing he just likes having people around him.

Professionally, Donald was an accountant.

This meant that he spent his life working with numbers and figures and practically anything that had to do with money. It was his job to make sense of cents. It made his Uncle Scrooge proud when he finally graduated.

“Ah, following the McDuck way!” His uncle hugged him. “You’ll make your first million in a year!”

Donald held onto his uncle’s high beliefs that with a little hard work, he would be a success. He had his entire life planned out. Graduate from college (which he did with a 4.0 GPA), start his own business (which he did with his own cut of the treasure and jewels from his adventures with his uncle and dear sister Della). All that was left was to live his life happily ever.

But even the best-laid plans can go astray.

In the blink of an eye, Della was gone and in her place, she left three orphaned boys who needed a home. Without a moment’s hesitation, Donald swore off adventuring and adopted Huey, Louie, and Dewey. It was the only viable option. Donald would not allow anyone else to raise his nephews. Besides, who else was fit for the job? Certainly, not his Uncle Scrooge, whose recklessness and greed cost him his twin sister and the boys’ their mother.

It didn’t add up.

It didn’t make any sense to put the boys in the same house with Uncle Scrooge. How could he ever explain to them about the Spear of Selene? No. He wouldn’t put the boys through that. He couldn’t.

And so, Donald rose to the occasion and began to his live his life as a single parent. Now, he adored his nephews. He loved them more than he thought he ever could. However, a baby was expensive, three babies were a huge expense and Donald was faced with a choice: Sell his accounting business or split the boys up and send them out to different relatives to help out with the costs.

Donald sold the business without a second thought.

It was worth it. It was worth every damn penny that he got if it kept the boys together and to his immense joy and relief, it did. The boys got to hatch and grow up together. To Donald’s surprise, the boys were all triplets but just because the boys were triplets, did not mean that they were clones. Their own personalities started to shine through before they could even walk.

Huey was a cuddle-bug. He needed to be held and wouldn’t settle for being put in the carrier.

Louie needed to be read three stories; always three but no more than six and there had to be at least one part with hidden treasure or he wasn’t interested.

Dewey needed to laugh. He required one funny face an hour. Donald wasn’t afraid to admit that he called Goofy every other day to keep his funny face game at peak perfection.

The boys were a joy and treasure. Donald couldn’t imagine life without them. It was after one long and messy feeding session (who knew babies could destroy a house with oatmeal?) that Donald received an email but his estranged uncle. With the boys in his arms, Donald skimmed it.

**Adventure.**

**Treasure.**

**Need a capable sailor.**

It had been a year without contact from his Uncle Scrooge. He didn’t show up when the boys hatched, he didn’t send a birthday card for them, and he didn’t even apologize about Della. It was unforgivable that after all this time, his uncle’s first attempt to reach out didn’t concern the boys or Della but another adventure. He didn’t even see his own nephew as a family member, just another sailor.

Furious, Donald sent a reply. He used every curse that the Navy had taught him and then some from what the Airforce had taught Della. It felt right, considering that the crazy old fool seemed to have forgotten what his thirst for adventure did to her.

Donald held his (his!) boys a little bit closer after that. He looked down on their sleeping peaceful faces and then suddenly a sobering thought came upon him. He was all they had. It was him and the boys against a cruel and dangerous world. No one cared for them like he did. Definitely not Scrooge.

Donald swore on Della’s good name and flying skills that he would keep the boys safe. He would do everything in his power to make sure that they didn’t go through the same pain, the same foolish mistakes that he made.

But it seemed like Fate had other plans.

Huey was curious. He had so many questions about everything. He was never satisfied with a simple answer. He wanted to have everything explained away. Talking of mysteries and history, spiked his curiosity ten-fold.

Louie was clever. Far too clever that a child had any business being. To make matters worse, he was also a smooth talker. It was difficult, nearly impossible, to pin any trouble on him which only increased his confidence. And with that, he sought out new ways to get into and out of trouble.

Dewey was adventurous. He was stubborn too. If you said that he couldn’t do something, he would take it as a challenge. It didn’t matter what, whether it was riding his bike without training wheels or getting a cookie by himself, he would take it personally and do his best to prove everyone wrong.

They were so brilliant. They were so smart. And not a day went by that they didn’t remind him of his sister. It was as if the boys were three separate pieces of Della. It was absolutely frightening. Della’s curiosity was insatiable. Solving mysteries came naturally to her. To say nothing of her silver tongue. She had gotten him and Scrooge out of more scrapes with a few well-placed words than with fists. However, that wasn’t to say that Della was a wallflower. When people told her that she couldn’t become a pilot, she sought to prove them wrong – and she did. Della Duck did not back down from a fight.

It was as the boys got older that more of Della came through and more stress followed. A houseboat was no place for three growing boys. They needed an outlet. Donald thought that enrolling the boys in the Junior Woodchucks would have worked it out of their system but it backfired magnificently in his face.  

In less than a month, the boys had turned their summer camp experience turned into their very first business venture. Huey found arrowheads in the river, Louie worked on pricing, and Dewey was leading everyone on an expedition to find ancient weapons from a long forgotten tribe. The boys had made over a hundred dollars before the camp counselors got wise.

Donald was cross. He scolded the boys, told them not to do it again and yet deep down, he couldn’t help but think how proud his uncle would be if he heard of his great-nephews business strategy at the tender age of six. Donald however, decided not to inform his Uncle Scrooge. The miserable old man never made an effort to get to know them when they hatched, why would he want to know about them now?

The boys were better off. The farther they were from Uncle Scrooge the better. Life after the camping incident got better. The boys toned down the antics, at least when it came to making money and things were good. Until the day came when Huey asked, “Where’s our mom?”

The question nearly sent Donald into an early grave. The boys knew that he wasn’t their father. Donald had “the talk” with them a few years ago. They knew that he was their uncle and that he wasn’t their father (it didn’t stop him from acting like it though). What they didn’t know was why their mother wasn’t around. Why wasn't she the one tucking them in at night, or reading them stories, or driving them to school and making their lunches? Donald sat his (his!) boys down on the couch and carefully explained things to them.

“Huey, Louie, Dewey, the first thing that I want you to know is that your mother loved you very much. She would do anything for you.”

“Then where is she?” asked Dewey.

“I wanna see my mom,” said Louie pouting.

“Can we go see her?” Huey asked, excited.

Donald barely kept himself together. He grabbed the family photo album. “I’m afraid that this is the best I can do.” Donald showed them Della at her very best moments from when she was a rebellious teen, to that time she outflew every male pilot in a race, to the day she knocked out a heavyweight champion in a bar fight. He told them everything he knew about her; her ups, her downs, her struggles, and the joy she had when she realized she was having not one, not two, but three kids.

“But where is she?” Huey asked, contemplating this new information.

“Yeah!” agreed Louie.

“Didn’t she want us?” asked Dewey, delivering the final blow.

“She wanted you more than anything!” Donald was quick comfort. “She would go on and on and on about how much she loved you and how excited she was to be here with you.”

He would have taken her place in an instant. The boys needed their mother, not her brother.

“A couple of years ago, there was an accident and we lost your mother. I know it’s hard and I know that you miss her but she would be so proud of you. She loved you boys so much.”

Tears were shed, mainly by Donald, but the boys seemed to accept the fact that their mother was gone and that she loved him. As long as the boys knew that they were loved, Donald considered it a win. Love, however, did not curb the boys’ uncanny ability to get into trouble. He supposed, deep down, that he knew this day would come; the day where his overprotective tendencies would come back to bite him in the ass.

What he didn’t know was that his Uncle Scrooge would be involved.

It was actually Mrs. Beakely who intervened on the old man’s behalf. Mrs. B was one of those rare kinds of people who knew just what everyone needed. She kept him updated on his miserable miser of an uncle, his business affairs, and what-not. She knew just exactly what to say to make any idea, no matter how bad it was, sound like a good idea.

“Your uncle should be finished with his meeting around noon. I’m sure he would be delighted in watching them for a few pleasant hours.”

Donald naturally rebuffed her. The boys’ babysitter, a nice if not dotty old bird, would be able to watch them. Or rather, she would if she hadn’t somehow managed to be stuck in the middle of nowhere. And so, it was with a heavy heart that Donald swallowed his pride and brought the brought the boys to the person that he loathed more than anyone in the world: His Uncle Scrooge.

He didn’t want to. Never in a million years did he want this. But the money from selling his business was running low and he needed this accounting job if he wanted to provide for his (his!) boys. And it was just for a few hours and Mrs. B would be in the house too so it wasn’t like anything too dangerous would happen.

Except that this was Scrooge McDuck.

The idiot who thought that bringing ten-year-olds on a day trip to the lost city of Atlantis was a great idea.

Honestly, Donald didn’t know what he expected from his crazy old Uncle Scrooge. The man was only ever interested in treasure, adventure, and the prospect of being clever than everyone else. It was his thing, it was what he had been doing since he was a punk in the Klondike. But, no matter how crazy Scrooge was, there was no denying that the man could get himself out of trouble. And considering how often the boys found themselves in trouble, Donald was faced with the rather appealing idea that if they had to learn to escape danger, it might as well be from the duck who had it down to a fine art.

The fact that the houseboat exploded had nothing to do with this decision.

But the houseboat did explode and now he and the boys were homeless. Or they were until Uncle Scrooge stepped up and offered his manor as their home. What else could Donald do but agree? The boys were excited enough to be living in the manor, Scrooge and them seemed to get along fine enough. There would have to be some boundaries set though.

No sugar after seven, no staying up past ten on a school night, and no death traps or lost cities on weekdays.

It was a fair enough in his opinion. However, Uncle Scrooge wasn’t without his own stipulations for living in his manor house. His uncle came from the generation that if you weren’t working or earning your keep, then what were you doing with your life?

“Aye, don’t be thinking that I’ll let you lollygag around. You live in my house, you’re gonna work.”

Which was fine by Donald. Working meant earning a paycheck, having a paycheck meant being able to support Huey, Louie, and Dewey. So his Uncle Scrooge gave him a part-time job as his secretary. Mrs. B. found it highly amusing for reasons that Donald wasn’t going to ask.

Nevertheless, there he was, working as his Uncle’s secretary. The job was simple enough; answer phone calls, make appointments, open the mail, and make sure that the bills were being paid. Easy. Or it would be until he got a look at the bills. One look at the extensive payroll and expenses and Donald nearly had a stroke.

It had to be a mistake. Someone was grossly misreporting the numbers or something because there was no way in hell that his Uncle Scrooge the biggest tightwad on the planet would ever have his expenses this high. This was the duck that when he did his brooding in front of a fireplace, he didn’t start a fire. It was a waste, he would say. But there was no doubting the expenses for that month. In neat little rows and columns were the costs from this month.

Mrs. Bentina Beakley: $5,000             $600                $700                $40

Launchpad McQuack: $5,000             $200                $400                $20

It had to be a mistake. It just had to be. There was no way the numbers for this month were this high! Donald raced to the record room and check payroll and household expenses going back five years and the numbers were the same. He went back another five years and found more of the same. Donald didn’t need a calculator to add the figures up. It was 1,4325,200 dollars. That much over the course of ten years. Oh, Uncle Scrooge would be pissed. He was going to be more than pissed, he would tear the house apart.

Donald rubbed his forehead. Alright, this was, financially, bad. There was no denying that but the good thing about this, as far as Donald could see, was that this accounting error was discovered now and not later. They would put a stop to the financial bleeding. Donald reached for the intercom and called Mrs. B. If anyone would know where his uncle was, it would be here.

“Your uncle is in the library with the children. I believe they are playing Adventurers.”

“Thank you, Mrs. B.”

He switched to the library and heard the shouts of joyful playing. He hated to ruin the boys’ fun but when there was blatant embezzlement going on, it needed to be dealt with.

“Uncle Scrooge, could you please come to your office?”

“Not now, Donald! I – ow! Good shot, Webby – I’m busy.”

“It’s important,” Donald all but pleaded.

“Busy!” Sounds of something expensive breaking in the library screeched through the intercom. “Atta boy, Louie!”

Donald sighed deeply. He did not want to break the news over the intercom or have his uncle learn it in front of the kids. Donald was left with the nuclear option.

“Ms. O’Gilt is waiting for you here.”

There was a pause and then came Scrooge’s reply. “Well, why didn’t you say so, lad? I’ll be there in a second!”

Of course, Goldie got him going.

True to his word, Scrooge was in his office as fast as he could. He sauntered in, dressed to the nines and smelling like cologne.

“Well? Where is she?” he eagerly asked. “Where’s Goldie?”

“Yeah, about that,” Donald started to say, “I lied.”

“What?” Scrooge bellowed. “Ah, Donald! You ruined a perfectly good game of Adventurers! Louie and I were about to win!”

“I know but there’s some discrepancies with your statements. I think someone is embezzling money.”

Any anger that Scrooge held towards Donald evaporated in an instant.

“Show me,’ he commanded.

“They’re doing it through payroll,” Donald explained as he presented the payroll and household expenses in chronological order. “They’ve managed to make off with more than a million so far but if we freeze the accounts now, start an audit, keep an eye on any current employees that have paid off massive debts then I’m sure that we can – “

“No. These numbers are right,” Scrooge said as he readjusted his glasses, “Right down to the last penny.”

“Excuse me?” Donald gasped. “Are we looking at the same statements? A housekeeper’s salary is thirty thousand. Mrs. B. is making double that plus more. Someone is playing with numbers and inflating her salary!”

“Aye, that was me.”

“You’re paying her twice what her job is worth!”

“Beakely is worth her weight in gold, Donald!” Scrooge defended. “She’s very efficient. She does the work of twelve housekeepers. That’s eleven other people that I don’t have to pay.”

“And what about Launchpad?” Donald accused.

“What about Launchpad?” Scrooge asked defensively. “He’s great! He’s everyone’s friend!”

“He’s caused twelve accidents over the past six months. Twenty cars were demolished – that’s over fifty thousand dollars in reimbursement. Not to mention the plane!”

“Bah! The plane was old! We needed a new one anyway.”

“YOU STILL USE A FLIP-PHONE BUT AN OLD PLANE JUST HAS TO GO?” Donald screeched with that infamous McDuck temper. “YOU’VE FLOWN IN CRATES THAT WERE BEING HELD TOGETHER WITH SCOTCH TAPE AND PUTTY!”

“I know it might seem strange but these numbers are correct. I know how much Mrs. Beakley and Launchpad are being paid. There’s nothing wrong here.”

“Who are you and what have you done with my uncle?” Donald asked, folding his arms.

“Are you daft, lad? It’s me. I’m the same.”

“No, you’re not. You’re a tightwad. You’re cheapskate. And most importantly, you’re Scrooge McDuck. My uncle would never, in a million years, pay anyone this much money.”

Scrooge scoffed. “I guess that shows how much you know about me. I know how much my friends are worth, Donald.”

He almost missed it. _Almost_. “Wait, what did you say?”

“I said, I know how much my employees are worth, Donald, you idiot.” He glared.

“No, that’s not what you said. You said, friends. Do you consider Mrs. B. and Launchpad to be your friends?”

A faint blush crept up Scrooge’s face. “NO! I said–“

Suddenly, before Scrooge could even finish his sentence, Webby appeared, hiding just behind the door. “Is everything okay?” she asked. “I heard shouting.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine. It’s fine. Donald and I here were, uh, having a little disagreement over, um, the exact location of where those kidnappers were holding Silver Swan.” Scrooge turned to Donald with the most desperate look of pity and pleading that Donald had ever seen. “Do you remember, Donald? Was it South Africa or South Asia? I always get those two mixed up.”

“Oh!” Webby raised her hand. “I remember! It’s one of my favorite stories! She, the Silver Swan, was being held in South Asia by a cruel lord who wanted to marry her! But then Donald came in and he was all like “Let her go!” and then the lord was like “Over my dead body!” and then Donald was just –“ Webby pretended to hold a sword and cut down any enemies who stood in her path. It was pretty adorable to see her running around in an oddly familiar sailor suit.

“Wait, is that suit mine?” Donald asked.

“Oh?” Webby showed off her sailor suit by doing a little spin. “Yeah, kinda. I found it in the attic and my granny fixed it up for me. Me and the boys are playing that one adventure, where you and Uncle Scrooge were in Madagascar?”

“We were in Madagascar a lot of times.” Donald struggled to remember which adventure she was talking about.

“This one had the giant monkey? And the lemurs? With the poison spears and darts?” Webby said, hoping to clarify.

“Oh, yeah. We slept in the trees for a month back then.” Donald’s back started to ache at the memory.

“Right! I’m Donald – actually, you’re Donald but I’m playing you and we need Uncle Scrooge. I don’t know the rest of the story.”

Scrooge turned to Donald with that same pleading look. “Well if there’s nothing left to talk about…”

“No, wait.” Donald held up his hand. “I want to make sure that you’re going to tell the story right. I’ll come with you guys.”

Webby could barely contain her excitement. “You’ll play with us?”

He nodded. “Sure. We can both be Donald.”

Webby grabbed her idol’s hand. “Let’s go! Guys! Guys! We’ve got two Donalds now!”

Scrooge followed behind. Relieved that he had dodged that conversation. But Donald turned his head as he was being guided by Webby and had a look on his face that said: We’re not done with this.


	2. Scrooge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scrooge handled loss differently than Donald. Isolation was what he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, here me out before you judge me. Now, I know that Scrooge uses his cane for literally everything else other than walking and it's probably because it's just an accessory, I thought, "Eh, let's make it angsty". So, here ya go. Have some duck feels. Ugh, this entire story was meant to be a thousand words max. That did not happen.

 

The doctors said that it was a phantom injury.

The pain that radiated through his skull, down his back, and all but crippled his left leg was due to the trauma of the Spear of Selene incident. Scrooge refused to believe it. He was stronger than some mental issue. There was no way he would let his own brain stop him from doing what he loved. And yet, as the weeks wore on, Scrooge McDuck found himself using his cane for the first time in his life to actually help him walk.

The cane was a ruse. He never needed it before in his life. People saw him as a dotty old man whose stories were more myth than fact and they tended to underestimate him. He wasn’t afraid to admit that he played up the act for all it was worth. But now that he needed the cane.

He limped back to his manor house and shut the doors.

Everything that made him a legend, a force to be reckoned with, his own family, and his pride had been shattered in all but an instant. He wished he could recall more of what happened but his mind was scrambled. The doctors said that his memory might never fully return. All he could recall was the ceiling falling in, Della screaming, and the haunted look on Donald’s face when they escaped. Feeling his age and failure, he gave up adventuring. It was for the best. Adventuring was only fun with Della and Donald.

They were the only members of this family that could keep up. With Donald at the helm, there was no storm or sea that could be tamed. Della, fearless Della, could handle any plane, any weather, on any continent. When Donald and Della got together, they were an unstoppable team. They liked a challenge. They were up for whatever. Ancient city that no one’s seen in a million years? They would jump on it. Ghosts haunting an old Scottish moor? Hell yeah, let’s go. They would be jetting off before the sun had risen.

So, in his massive mansion, Scrooge stayed, haunted by thoughts of Della and Donald and that damned Spear of Selene. The only contact he had with the outside world was with his company’s board and occasionally the mailman. One day, the mailman, a nice enough fellow with a burly mustache, pressed the intercom button on his gate.

“Special delivery for you, sir.”

Scrooge let the man in and when the mailman came to his door, he was carrying flowers. Hydrangeas and baby’s breath with little plastic teddy bears and blue balloons placed in the bouquet.

“I think you’ve got the wrong address,” Scrooge said, as he examined the flowers.

“There’s only one Scrooge McDuck, sir,” said the mailman cheerfully. “Congratulations!”

“On what?” He was steadily growing more and more puzzled by the minute.

“Your grand-nephews, sir. I’ve heard that Donald’s pretty proud of them.”

“What?”

Donald didn’t have children. So, therefore, he didn’t have any grand-nephews. His other distant family members were too busy to raise children. So, who’s children were – The realization hit him with the force of a speeding train.

“OH, I’M AN IDIOT!” he shouted. Della! They were DELLA’S! His memory started to return. He could hear Della talking about her children, baby names, and how much she loved them. How could he have forgotten? Della had been excited for her children! “Have they hatched?” Scrooge asked frantically.

The mailman’s own confusion turned into pity. “Sir, your grand-nephews turned a year old yesterday. Didn’t you know?”

A little bit of Scrooge’s heart broke. He missed his grand-nephews hatching. He would never get to see, he could never get that moment back. Scrooge went back to his mansion and shut the doors again. Rumors swirled on what happened to him. The world thought that with his newest family members, the famous Scrooge McDuck would have shouted it from the rooftops.

Instead, he was trying to figure how to talk. Scrooge knew that he missed out on so much on the boys’ first moments in life. He knew that Donald was pissed. Well, Donald was probably more than pissed. He would be furious.

“Should I go over?”

No, that would be presumptuous. I would be lucky if Donald didn’t try and drown me in the pier, Scrooge thought, start small.

And small he went. He sat down at his computer, he went to his e-mail and before he could even start typing, he found himself drowning in uncertainty and doubt.

“What do I even say?” he wondered aloud.

What could he even say? What words could make up for missing a chunk of the boys’ lives or for Della being gone? There were no words or phrases that could heal the rift. ‘Sorry’ was a pitiful word that didn’t measure up. Actions wouldn’t help either. He would willingly give up his fortune or buy the boys anything they needed but Donald would see that as it was: an old man desperately trying to buy his family’s love.

And he was. Nevertheless, he had to write something.

            _Dear Donald,_

Scrooge stared at the two words. Was it too casual?

            _I…_

The word ‘I’ stood alone for a solid five minutes.

            _I haven’t heard from you in a while._

That was good. He was concerned.

            _I haven’t heard from you in a while and I’m sorry that our relationship has gotten this bad. I won’t pretend that I know what you’re going through. Donald, I don’t…_

Honesty was the best policy. It was always the best policy.

            _I haven’t heard from you in a while and I’m sorry that our relationship has gotten this bad. I won’t pretend that I know what you’re going through. Donald, I don’t want to lose what’s left of my family. There’s a lost mine that I know of that’s not too far away. It would be great to go on an adventure with you. We could talk. You can keep all the treasure or I could put it in a trust for the boys when they get older. To get to the mine, we’d have to cross the ocean. I need a capable sailor. You’re the only one I trust to traverse the sea with. Please, let me know._

_Sincerely,_

_Scrooge._

Scrooge sighed. It was over. Now all he had to do was wait for his nephew’s reply. Waiting proved to be one of the most difficult things he had to do. A day passed and then two and just as Scrooge thought that he should go over to speak with Donald in person, a reply came. Scrooge made a beeline for his computer. Happily, he opened his e-mail and was met with hate and loathing. It was a mix between Navy and Airforce nomenclature but the message came across loud and clear: he was not welcomed in his grand-nephews’ or Donald’s life.

It nearly killed him.

Scrooge turned over most of the controls to his company’s board, he retired from public appearances and stayed inside. No one saw him for weeks. The rumor-mill started up again at full force. Glomgold bragged that Scrooge had died and that he was now the richest duck in the world. To spite him, Scrooge sent a video of himself playing his bagpipes perfectly. Scrooge McDuck was alive but he was not well. He wandered the halls of his mansion and he stayed alone.

He was content to live out the rest of life like that until one day, there was a knock at his door. Scrooge didn’t bother to answer it. What was the point? The knocking didn’t stop though. It got louder and louder until it became unbearable. Scrooge left his room and hobbled down the empty halls until he came to the foyer. The knocking intensified. Nervously, he opened the door. Standing on his doorstep was a severe looking woman who was at least a foot taller than him. At her feet, there were two suitcases.

“Good evening,” she said.

“Eh, can I help you?”

“Yes. You may show me to my room.”

“Pardon?”

“You are Scrooge McDuck, aren’t you?”

“Yes…” he replied, not too sure where this was going. “Who exactly are you?”

“Mrs. Bentina Beakley,” she answered briskly before storming the foyer to Scrooge’s shock. “I’m your new housekeeper.”

“WHAT? I didn’t request a housekeeper.”

“No, but your company did.” Mrs. Beakley looked around at the state of the mansion. She wiped one finger down a banister. It was covered with dust. “I see that I’ve got my work cut out for me.”

“What? Excuse me!” He ran in front of her, blocking her from going any further on his own. “Oy! This is MY house and in MY House what I say goes and I say, GET OUT OF MY BLOODY HOUSE!”

Mrs. Beakley was unflinching. She stood tall and firm against his rage. “Mr. McDuck, your board has entrusted me to take care of your home. I suggest that you allow me to carry out my duties.”

Begrudgingly, he let her. She walked on without him but the moment she reached the stairs, she turned around and said, “Mr. McDuck, I would greatly appreciate it if you wouldn’t leave your cane on the floor.”

Scrooge wasn’t aware he had walked on without it.

 

In the weeks following her employment, it became obvious to Scrooge that Mrs. Beakley was no ordinary housekeeper. She had a military flare about her. Everything she did was with precision and efficiency.

“So…,” Scrooge started to say one lazy summer morning, “What branch?”

“Pardon me?”

“Airforce? Navy? What were you in?”

She put down her rag. “No branch. I was employed by the government.”

“The government needed a housekeeper?” Scrooge asked, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

“S.H.U.S.H. needed someone who could keep house and I kept it well.”

“Ah, you’re a spy,” he grinned.

“You find it amusing?”

“I find it odd that a government spy actually wants to clean an old man’s house,” Scrooge said honestly.

Mrs. Beakley crossed her arms. “Believe it or not but there are people out there who are concerned for your well-being.”

Slowly, Scrooge nodded. “So, you’re my nanny.”

“If that’s how you choose to interpret this, then yes but I prefer to keep house.” She went back to cleaning without another word.

 

Scrooge couldn’t find it in his heart to fire Beakley. It would be a waste of money to lose someone as efficient as her, he reasoned. But if Scrooge was being honest with himself, he just liked the company. He would follow her around as she cleaned. Sometimes, he would tell her the story behind an artifact or help her dust the various knickknacks he had. Truth be told, it was wonderful to see the mansion come back to life and he missed the feeling of hard work paying off. He grew fond of her and her no-nonsense approach to life. And just when things were becoming almost routine, Mrs. Beakley up and left. A note was placed on her door. She didn’t focus on unnecessary information or emotional things. All that her note said was:

            _Family emergency. Will be away for a few days. Do remember to eat, Scrooge._

_With love,_

_Mrs. Beakley._

He kept the note on his person and waited for when she would come back. The days passed and with Mrs. Beakley’s absence, the mansion seemed to be bigger than ever. The silence was deafening. He hated the silence. On the seventh day, as Scrooge settled down for lunch, he wondered if Mrs. Beakley would actually return. He didn’t like to think about it but if things were bad enough with her family, she would probably leave. Scrooge scowled at that thought. He didn’t want to be alone again but what could he do? Family was family and – oh, what did he know about family? His had abandoned him. Still, there had to be something that could be done. The obvious thought was money. He had more money than anyone despite what Glomgold would claim. There was always enough money around. Maybe, he was generous enough with his financial state with her, she would stay. What was he paying her? Thirty thousand a year? Bah, that was chump change. Beakley was worth more than that and he knew it. Just as Scrooge wondered just how much to slip into her wages, he heard the doorbell ring. He limped to the front door as fast as he could and threw it open. There she was, Mrs. Bentina Beakley, looking tired but happy to be back at the mansion.

“Beakley!” he joyfully shouted.  

“Good afternoon, Mr. McDuck,” she smiled warmly. “How are you?”

“Good, good, how’s the family?”

She sighed in a way that did not invite further conversation. Scrooge shut the door behind her. “That bad, aye?”

“Family is complicated and somethings do not work out according to plan,” she said sadly. Mrs. Beakley turned to him and said in a quiet voice, “My son and his wife suddenly passed away.”

He was left speechless. Before he could say anything, Mrs. Beakley left Scrooge alone in the foyer.

 

Weeks passed and Mrs. Beakley continued to clean the house but things were different now. Scrooge didn’t know how to act around her. She was quiet but it was a different type of quiet. It was a sad, still sort of silence that dominated the room and lingered long after she left. He finally pinned her down as she was cleaning the kitchen and while he was prepared to say that he knew how much family could mean to a person, she seemed to know how he was feeling.

“Mr. McDuck, I have no intention of leaving my post,” she ambushed him before he could get a word out. “I have made arrangements. Everything will be taken care of.”

And that was the end of it. Things were better, he guessed. The still silence that followed Beakley around dissipated. Whatever arrangements she made worked out. Life was good until Scrooge realized that his mansion was haunted. There were little footsteps, haunting laughter, and noises in the night that disappeared when he got close enough. The haunting went on for three weeks before Scrooge finally realized that the haunting was actually a small toddler.

“So this is your, um, arrangement?” he asked as Mrs. Beakley as she put her granddaughter down for a nap.

“Yes.”

“She’s really been living here for three weeks?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Beakley smiled. “You didn’t notice.”

“I thought it was a ghost,” he sheepishly answered. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s alright. It’s good to see you passionate about something. Besides, I tossed the last ghost out with trash this past Thursday.”

 

There was noise in the mansion again; glorious wondrous noise. Webby’s laughter echoed through the grounds. Scrooge decided that he didn’t want the laughter to go away. So, came next payday, he doubled Mrs. Beakley’s salary and started a trust fund for Webby. These actions did not go unnoticed by her grandmother.

“Mr. Scrooge, you’ve made an error with my wages.”

“Have I?” asked Scrooge looking up from his own paperwork.

“Yes, in fact, you’ve doubled it.” She had that look on her face when Webby was doing something she wasn’t supposed to be doing. Scrooge guessed he wasn’t above it either. “Mr. Scrooge, the money isn’t necessary.”

“I think it is,” he answered quietly.

She sat down in front of his desk and glanced over the papers he was working on. “And Webbigail does not require a trust fund. Her parents were generous with her needs. She’ll have plenty of money.”

“Aye,” Scrooge fiddled with his glasses. “But you never know what might happen, I mean what if she decides she wants to earn her doctorate or wants to see the world or whatever? It never hurts to have a little saved up for an adventure.”

Mrs. Beakley sighed. “You’re not going to stop no matter what I say, are you?”

Scrooge silently nodded his head.

“Do me the favor of putting yourself in charge of her trust, would you?”

He couldn’t deny her. “Aye, I will.”

He placed himself solely in charge of Webby’s future finances. He invested it in all the right companies, he kept it growing steadily, and within two months the trust had grown to the point where Webby had enough money to go off jetting around the world and have enough left over for an adventure or two. It was the trust fund that motivated Scrooge to get back to his own business. His return was met with thunderous applause and a rise in profits. Strangely enough, his leg felt better. He didn’t lean on his cane as much as needed to.

But while business was good, there were days where Scrooge wasn’t. Donald and Della’s birthday was one of those days. His leg always hurt the worst on their birthday. He didn’t go into the office or attend to his affairs while staying inside. He was content to limp around the house. Mrs. Beakley, who saw this coming from a mile away, would not have him spend the day moping around the mansion.

“Go outside,” she chided. “It’s a beautiful day out.”

“But my leg,” he complained and moaned.

“I’ve spoken to your doctors. They say that you need to move. Be active, sir. Go outside for a walk.”

“Fine! I will but not because you told me to!”

He hobbled away under his own steam. Walking down the hill alone was a trial but he would not give up so easily. If he turned back now, Beakley would have him out again.

Go around the block, old boy, Scrooge thought, then I can go back to moping.

He had traveled the world, he could make it around the block. His left leg was in agony. With every step he took, it got worse. By the time he reached the end of the block, his leg burned with pain. Scrooge cursed, “Why is this so hard?”

He’d done everything. He’d fought wild animals, survived frigid temperatures in the Klondike, and fought supernatural beasts. Why his own brain saw fit to cause him physical pain when there wasn’t an injury was beyond him. Scrooge decided that he would rest on the corner or he would have if there wasn’t a limo careening towards him.

Scrooge barely had a moment to dive out of the way. His cane, however, got snagged on the limo’s open window. Scrooge found nearly being dragged down the street as the limo charged on. His adrenaline kicked in, Scrooge held tight onto his cane and climbed up and through the open window. Inside the rogue limo, was one crying businessman in a fetal position and a red-headed driver rocking out to his music. Scrooge unsteadily made his way to the driver.

“OY!”

The driver turned around and smiled brightly. “Hi! You’re not my usual fare. You new?”

“NEW? Are you daft man? You nearly ran me over!”

The driver let go of the steering wheel. “I’m sorry,” he said sincerely. “I’ll exchange information with you. What’s your name?”

“THE ROAD!” Scrooge screeched as he pointed towards the oncoming traffic.

“The Road?” The driver scratched his head. “That’s a funny name.”

“No! The road!”

The driver turned back around and laughed. “Oh yeah, yeah!” He corrected and successfully avoided crashing. “Woo, that’s a close one. So, what’s your name?” he asked casually.

Scrooge was bewildered but answered the man. “Scrooge McDuck.”

“Really? Cause – Hey, wait a minute!” The driver looked positively ecstatic. “You’re Scrooge McDuck! The Adventurer! Oh, wow! I’m a big fan. The stunt you pulled in South Africa?” The driver laughed long and hard. “Oh, man, they’re still talking about it. Where are my manners? The name’s Launchpad McQuack. I’m a bit of an adventurer myself.”

“Please let me out!” cried the whimpering businessman in the back. “Please!”

“Are you sure?” Launchpad asked. “We’re still a little ways away from the airport.”

“I’ll walk!” The businessman sobbed. “I’ll walk.”

“Okay, if you say so.”

Launchpad pulled over and the businessman all but crawled away. “You’ll never drive in this town again, do you hear me? YOU’LL NEVER DRIVE AGAIN!”

“You have a good day!”

And that’s how Scrooge McDuck found himself miles away from his home, sitting in a limo with an unemployed but hopelessly optimistic Launchpad McQuack.

“So…,” Scrooge began, “You’re an adventurer?”

Launchpad smiled brightly. “I’ve been just about everywhere.”

“Tell you what, why don’t you give me a lift back to my place and we can talk about adventuring.”

And that was how Scrooge hired Launchpad. He was a fast and dangerous driver but it was familiar. The twists and turns and death-defying speeds brought back a lot of old memories. It was almost like adventuring again. Scrooge couldn’t help but keep Launchpad around. Sure, the man caused accidents but what was life without them? It was boring! Hearing the tires screeching, the horns frantically honking, people occasionally screaming, it was like being back out in the world. Still, there was the risk that Launchpad would get bored driving him around. What fun was it being a driver when adventure was out there? Scrooge did the only thing he knew how to do: he bumped up Launchpad’s paycheck.

“Hey! Mr. McD!” Launchpad ran after him.

“Hm? What is it?”

“I think there’s a problem with my paycheck,” he said as he all but shoved the slip of paper in his employer’s face. “See? I think someone’s fingers slipped and hit the zero button a couple of times.”

“Oh, no Launchpad, that was me.”

“You outta be more careful, Mr. McD. A slip up like that could cost you a lot of money.”

“No, Launchpad, that’s your right paycheck,” he answered very softly.

“It’s too much.” Launchpad protested.

“No, it’s what you deserve. Know your worth, McQuack.”

Launchpad looked at the slip of paper. “Well…since you insist…hey, tell you what, to celebrate my first paycheck, why don’t I take us all out for ice cream?”

“Oh, I couldn’t.”

“Come on! It’ll be fun. Besides, what are friends for?”

How could Scrooge say no?

 

Life was good. His leg didn’t hurt as much anymore. There was a tinge of pain when the bad days came but he was getting better. Sure, he didn’t go on adventures anymore and the company was steadily cutting off research into exploration but the important thing was that…was that…

He was still lonely.

Mrs. Beakley, Webby, and Launchpad were all wondrous people. They were the best of the best but in the still moments of the morning, Scrooge found himself thinking about his family, about Della and Donald, and Della’s children. He didn’t even know their names. Sometimes, he thought about trying to reestablish contact but the e-mail always came back to his mind. What was the point of being rejected a second time?

It was better this way, he was sure of it.

Or he was sure of it until Donald suddenly dropped Della’s boys in his lap while he went in for a job interview.

Scrooge found himself paralyzed by his grand-nephews. They were highly inquisitive. Scrooge didn’t know what hurt more, the fact they didn’t really believe they were related or the fact that they knew he was all washed up.

“You used to be a big deal! Whatever happened to you?”

Used to be a big deal? He WAS a big deal. The things he did were big deals! His company was on the cutting edge of virtually everything….everything except for exploration. That aspect of his company or his life was slowly being cut away. It was for the best. Without Della and Donald by his side, what was the point of going out and getting into trouble?

The being said, he was never good at taking jabs to his ego lying down.

He would pull off one last hurrah, just to show everyone what a big deal that he was and that would be the end of it. A quick trip to Atlantis was just what the doctor and his ego ordered. Or it would have been if he wasn’t waylaid by a gold-eating dragon. But Webby and the triplets proved themselves more than capable handling the supernatural beast. Just as quickly they got themselves into trouble, they got themselves out of it…just like Donald and Della used to.

The children were natural-born adventurers. So, like any good guardian, he took the children with him to Atlantis. It wasn’t like he could leave them alone, no, that would have been irresponsible. Besides, children who were natural-born adventurers needed to know the basics of life: Like work smarter not harder, even the most basic death trap still has the word death in it, and diving head first into money took hard work and practice.

Honestly, he thought Donald would have taught the boys the basics of avoiding death but he hadn’t and so that lesson was placed squarely on his shoulders. Not that he minded, of course, it wasn’t every day he got to teach the next generation of brilliant explorers. And now that they were living in his mansion (his home had never been this noisy before!) he could properly teach them the important things in life, like getting the drop on your enemies and how to properly, how to wield a sword, and…and how to…oh there was so much to teach. He had a wealth of experience and just plain wealth and now they were all living in his home. It was wonderful!

He had his family back!

But then he just had to slip up. He still paid Mrs. Beakley and Launchpad their dues. It was what they deserved. Well, they deserved more. They deserved the world and then some! But Donald caught on and now he wanted to talk about his spending. Bah, what did Donald know? He never spent days by himself or wondering whether the people he loved would leave him. Mrs. Beakley, Webby, and Launchpad were all he had. No amount of money was too great if it meant they were by his side. Donald was threatening to drive them away. Once the money dried up, they would leave him. As soon as Donald got a steady job, he would take Huey, Louie, and Dewey with him.

He would be alone again.

Even now, as his family sat down for dinner, he couldn’t help but wonder if this was going to be one of the last times he would get to see them. Donald, who sat at the end of the table next to Webby, wouldn’t stop glaring at him. He was intent on finishing their discussion. Scrooge panicked. He couldn’t count on the children to bail him out again and Beakley would force him to talk things over with Donald.

“Eh, Beakley? Where’s Launchpad?” he asked suddenly.

Mrs. Beakley passed out the plates of pasta. “I believe that he’s in the hangar working on his plane.”

Scrooge immediately got up. “No sense in letting his dinner go to waste! I’ll bring it out to him. Everyone else, carry on!”

Before Donald could even protest, Scrooge was gone.

 

Scrooge ran as fast as his legs could carry him. When he was sure that Donald wasn’t following him, he breathed a little bit easier. Another crisis was now temporarily averted. He would have to think of something quickly. Donald wouldn’t let this go. He would keep hounding him until he was sure that he came to his financial sense and cut Mrs. Beakley and Launchpad off. Oh, but he couldn’t do that to them. Yes, they said they were fine if their wages went down but people said things like that all the time. They were just telling him what he wanted to hear. They would leave him in a heartbeat once the money was gone.

Entering the hangar, Scrooge pushed the loneliness out of his mind. “Oy! Launchpad!”

The pilot popped his head up from the engine block. “Hey, Mr. McD. What’s going on?”

“Brought you supper,” he answered, holding up the plate of pasta.

“Aw, thanks. You didn’t have to. I was about to come in.”

“Eh, I wanted to.” Scrooge sat on the wing of the plane and Launchpad dove into his dinner. “How’s she running?”

Launchpad shrugged as he slurped his noodles. “Running pretty smoothly. There’s a kink in there during take-off that I can’t figure out. I’ll take it for a test flight in the morning.”

“Why wait for morning? Why not take it out now?”

“I don’t know Mr. McD., Mrs. Beakley told me no flying after six. She says my crashing gets the kids hyper.”

“What harm can a test flight do? The kids are gipped up on goop anyways. One little crash won’t make a difference.”

“UNCLE SCROOGE!” Storming the hangar, bearing the infamous McDuck temper was Donald.

“Start the engine, McQuack,” whispered Scrooge urgently. “Start the engine!”

“Launchpad, can you give my uncle and I a minute?”

The poor pilot sensing the change in atmosphere lent a pitiful look to his employer before running off with his dinner.

 “Uncle Scrooge…” Donald said warningly. “We need to talk.”

“Donald, now’s not really a good time for us to have this little heart to heart. Can I schedule you in for say, next weekend?”

Folding his arms, Donald glared. “You’re acting screwy.”

“I am not!”

“Yes, you are!”

“Am not!” Scrooge said defiantly.

“You called them your friends,” said Donald. “You called Mrs. Beakley and Launchpad your friends.”

Scrooge scoffed. “I don’t have to talk to you. This is MY house and MY rules and I don’t have to listen to-“

“Oh stop it! Stop pushing me away! I know something's up so talk!” Donald demanded.

“I tried!” Scrooge shouted, tears threatening to fall. “I tried! You hated me! You hated me so much!”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“I SENT YOU AN E-MAIL!” Scrooge bellowed. “AND YOU….YOU!” he shook his head. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t cry now. “I won’t stop paying Mrs. Beakley and Launchpad. I won’t and you can’t make me.”

“Uncle Scrooge-“

“NO! I won’t! They’re all I’ve got left, Donald. I don’t have friends, I have enemies. People don’t want to hang out with me, they want to see me hang. So if I have to pay Mrs. Beakley and Launchpad then fine! I don’t care! I’ve got plenty of money!”

“UNCLE SCROOGE!” Donald shouted, grabbing his uncle. “Take a breath! Geez…”

He did take a breath. He took several and then several more.

“You’re shaking,” commented Donald.

“Aye…”

They waited in silence. Neither sure what to say to the other. It was Donald who eventually broke it. “Mrs. Beakley and Launchpad, they are your friends.”

“I know. I pay them,” he said softly. “I won’t stop paying them.”

“It’s not paying them that worried me,” Donald admitted. “It’s you thinking that you need to pay them that scares me.”

Scrooge couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

“I mean it!” Donald insisted. “You keep up that kind of attitude and you’ll let in all kinds of people into your life! People who only care about your money!”

“So?”

Donald was on the verge of screaming. “So I don’t want to see you get taken advantage of, Uncle Scrooge! You’re lucky Mrs. B and Launchpad actually care about you! Look, our family is…difficult. We don’t get along and Della…” Donald sighed. “Della wouldn’t want us to be more split up and I don’t want that either. You’re the only family the boys and I have got left.”

“I’m sorry about the Spear of Selene, about Della, about the boys not having their mother,” Scrooge said. “If I could have switched places with Della…”

Donald shook his head. “Then I would be having this conversation with her instead of you. Uncle Scrooge? Are we alright?”

“We’re alright,” he answered gently.

“You wanna head back to the house?

“Aye…”

Together, they headed inside. The mansion was alive with chattering and laughter. Just as Scrooge and Donald reached the door, Donald held back and said, “Sorry about all the noise.”

“I don’t mind it,” Scrooge contently answered. “It’s nice.”


	3. Beakley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mrs. Beakley was many things but above all else, she was a housekeeper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally meant to be apart of Scrooge's section of the story but it got cut out. However, Cybra convinced me that it should at least be out there since Beakley is a huge part of Scrooge's life. So here ya go! Have some Beakley feels!

 

Some people were born to be leaders.

Some people were born to be followers.

And some people were born to be housekeepers.

Mrs. Bentina Meredith Beakley was born to be a housekeeper.

She had a knack for detail and organization and knew how to keep a cool head under severe pressure. She always knew what to do and how to keep everything nice and steady. It was little wonder that she excelled through S.H.U.S.H. ranks. However, it was at the pinnacle of her career that she decided to quit. S.H.U.S.H. was only fun when it kept her on her toes. So, after thirty-five years on the job, she hung up her spy goggles grappling hook and left for retirement.

It was a shame that retirement didn’t suit her.

The days blended together. Madness was taking hold. Civilian life did not look good on her. It was too mundane. She didn’t know how other people did it. Where was the thrill of waking up and knowing that people were out to kill you? The rush that came from successfully avoiding near disaster? It was boring as hell.

Then came the happy day, where a welled dressed vulture happened to knock on her door. He said that is name was Bradford Buzzard and that he represented Scrooge McDuck Industries.

“Are you aware of who Scrooge McDuck is?” he asked as he sat down on her couch.

“Of course, I do.”

For someone like McDuck, who had a knack for leaving chaos in his wake and incurring more revenge and death curses than anyone else in recorded history, he was constantly on S.H.U.S.H.’s radar.

“He’s an adventurer, a businessman, a bit of a daredevil too I might add –“

“Correction, he _was_ an adventurer. He _was_ a businessman. He _was_ a daredevil. Mr. Scrooge McDuck is none of those things anymore.”

“Explain.”

“You’re aware of the circumstances concerning his niece?”

“That was after my time and, no, I didn’t read the papers. The news can say a lot of things and not is it always true,” she set down the tea set. “Would you care for a cup?”

Bradford refused. “There’s a nasty rumor going around stating that Mr. McDuck has passed away.”

“Has he?” Mrs. Beakley asked. The world’s richest duck suddenly stops showing up everywhere and a member of his board shows up to her house could only mean two things:

  1. Scrooge McDuck was dead
  2. Scrooge McDuck was mostly dead



“We’re fairly certain he hasn’t died,” Bradford answered honestly.

“You are “fairly certain”?”

Bradford retrieved his phone from his pocket and opened up a video. “One of our inside sources at Glomgold Industries forwarded this to us a month ago.”

The video started to play. The distinct voice of Scrooge McDuck rang out. “Ello, Glomgold, you walloper. I’ve got a little song for you!”

Blaring bagpipe music followed seconds later which was then followed by Glomgold having a spectacular meltdown. The video cut out when Glomgold shattered the camera. Mrs. Beakley formed an opinion at that moment that Scrooge McDuck was only mostly dead.

“I see he’s alive enough to taunt his enemies.”

“Taunting aside, the board has agreed that this type of behavior can’t go on any longer.”

“Ah,” Mrs. Beakley set her teacup aside. “You want him back at adventuring.”

Bradford scoffed. “No. The fact that Mr. McDuck has put an end to that silly nonsense has been a godsend. The company is saving billions in cutting exploration research. But when rumors swirl that a company’s founder has passed away, do you know what happens?”

“Enlighten me.”

“Stocks tank and people are fired.”

“And what is it that you require of me?”

“Keep Scrooge McDuck alive until we have a plan for when the inevitable happens.”

And so that was her job: to keep an old man alive. It wasn’t too out of line with her old work. She had more than enough experience at keeping people alive. But what she didn’t have experience on was keeping depressed people alive.

The next day, she was at the elegant McDuck estate. It was ridiculously easy to break through the front gate and make her way up to the manor house. Mr. McDuck seemed to have gotten soft with his security. She knocked on the door and was met with silence. She knocked and knocked and when the door finally opened, she saw the sorriest sight of a man that she ever laid eyes on. He was hunched over and leaned heavily on his cane. His plumage was faded and unwashed. His face was gaunt and his sorrowful eyes were sunken.

Mrs. Beakley was temporarily taken aback. Surely, this couldn’t be the world famous, brilliant self-starter that was Scrooge McDuck? There had to be a mistake. And yet, the more she studied him, the more she realized that the pathetic figure in front of her was him. It was shameful to see him like this but she guessed that even the mightiest of men had to fall sooner or later.

“Good evening,” she said, trying her best to sound friendly.

“Eh, can I help you?” The old man asked.

“Yes. You may show me to my room.”

“Pardon?”

“You are Scrooge McDuck, aren’t you?”

“Yes…” he replied, not too sure where this was going. “Who exactly are you?”

“Mrs. Bentina Beakley,” she answered briskly before storming the foyer to Scrooge’s shock. “I’m your new housekeeper.”

 

That’s how it all began. She stormed in and took charge immediately but Scrooge? He slipped away. She never saw much of him those first early days. Every once in a while, she thought that she would see him out of the corner of her eye but he would always be gone before she could get a proper look at him. Nevertheless, Mrs. Beakley knew when she was being watched. Did Mr. McDuck think that she was going to steal from him? Or somehow hurt him? It seemed unlikely but with what little information his board had given her and McDuck’s reclusive nature, it made her unsure of what his motives were.

But she had a job to do and she was going to keep house.

As to where McDuck was during the day while she cleaned, she had a general idea. He would hide away, moping in some dust-covered room, only coming out when she outright demanded he leave so she could clean. Each room in the mansion had fallen into despair. It took her a full day to get one room back in order. It was around the twentieth room that McDuck came out of hiding. He was wearing actual clothes instead of his dirty robe. He was waiting for her by the bedroom. Mrs. Beakley put down her mop and bucket.

“Do you need any help?” he asked softly.

“Would you like to help?”

He nodded and followed her into the bedroom. What should have been a suitable sleeping space was turned into a storage room. Dust dominated every crevice and for what the room held inside was a mishmash of junk and ancient treasures. She looked to him and asked, “Shall we begin?”

He nodded again. She worked on one half of the room, he worked the other. They worked in silence. She occasionally looked over her shoulder just to make sure that he was alright. Around noon, when she checked on him, she saw that he was standing in the corner.

“Mr. McDuck?” she walked over to him. “Are you alright?”

Mrs. Beakley towered over him and saw that he was holding a coin. It wasn’t any currency that she was familiar with but the way his hands trembled from holding it gave her insight that it was of some importance to him.

“….I nearly died getting this coin…” he said shakily. “I was traveling by myself and I didn’t see the spear coming.”

“You were nearly impaled?”

“Nearly, aye. I was left with a bad scar and an awful lecture from Donald and….” He trailed off.

“Why don’t we get something to eat, Mr. McDuck?”

 

The main kitchen, much like the rest of the house, was sorely neglected. Opening up the fridge alone required a hazmat suit. She sighed and tapped her foot against the grimy tile floor. Just how on earth had McDuck been surviving all this time? She glanced over to him and his emaciated form.

“When was the last time you had a decent meal?” she asked, making sure that her tone wasn’t accusatory but rather curious.

He muttered and stuttered but gave her no satisfactory answer.

“Right then,” she grabbed her purse and started to walk out the door. “I’m running to the store. I’ll be back in an hour. We will eat and then back to work. How does that sound?”

“Good. It sounds good.”

 

When she returned from the store, Mrs. Beakley did not find Scrooge waiting for her in the kitchen or hiding in his bedroom. She put the groceries away (she was never letting the fridge get that bad ever again. If she saw mold, she would get the flamethrower) and searched for her elusive employer. She found him eventually, in the same room that they were working in. It had been completely cleaned from top to bottom. Huddled in the corner, sleeping on a makeshift bed, was Scrooge McDuck.

It was then that Mrs. Beakley broke the number one rule of bodyguarding: Never grow attached to your target.

Targets came and went. Some lived and some died. And when they died, it was a messy affair. She knew it very well. She lost some of the best agents she ever knew because they developed feelings towards their target. And now she was one of them. She grew fond of him and in time, he grew fond of her.

It never escalated beyond an enjoyable companionship but Mrs. Beakley knew that she would never quite feel comfortable allowing anyone else to watch over him. Now, she was worried about him when he skipped a meal, fretted when he got in those quiet moods and rarely said anything, and dreaded the days where his bum leg would give out on him and sent him crashing to the floor.

She wished that she could walk out the door when her mission was done but she couldn’t. She was happy to stick by McDuck’s side. Too bad that he didn’t realize it. For all of his brilliance, Scrooge thought that it was money that made her.

It had to be money, not his wit.

It had to be his net-worth, not his charm.

It had to be literally anything else, except for him.

She understood it but he didn’t. When he doubled her wages, she talked to him. She insisted that the money wasn’t necessary, that the trust fund for Webby wasn’t needed, but he stood his ground and kept on. Nothing would change his mind. She guessed, for the time being, Scrooge setting up the trust fund was for the best. It got him back in the office and once more made himself a captain of industry but in the long run, she worried. Money caused the absolute worst of humanity to come out of the woodwork.

She kept them away. She tossed those who would take advantage of him far away.

After all, she was a housekeeper and what good was she if she didn’t keep the trash out of the manor?


	4. Launchpad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Launchpad is Scrooge's friend. Too bad Scrooge doesn't realize it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, LP's chapter was originally meant to be part of a longer conversation that he and Scrooge would have had but all the fuss on LP being Scrooge's friend was ultimately cut in favor of Donald having his heart to heart with his uncle. The chapter is short but with LP, I don't feel like he has to have this long detailed chapter like everyone else. He's LP. He wears his emotions on his sleeve and he is everyone's friend. I just wanted to say thank you for all the comments, kudos, and bookmarks. They really mean a lot to me.

 

Scrooge McDuck hurried out to the hanger. He couldn’t talk to Donald about the payroll. He just couldn’t. There was no way he could speak to his nephew about his finances. He would never understand. How could he? He was Donald! Sure, he might have had some temper issues but he was brave and loyal and people flocked to him. Donald certainly had more friends than he did.

Who was he kidding? He had more enemies than he did friends.

What few friends he had, Mrs. Beakley and Launchpad, he wasn’t going to let them go. They were all he had left. And if they left him, then what would he do? He would be alone, in his mansion, until the day he died. Excluding some arch-nemesis trying to kill him, no one would speak to him.

He spent a year alone. He lost a year of his life to being alone.

“I don’t want to go back to that,” Scrooge shook his head. “I’m not going back to that.”

But still, he didn’t get where he was today but ignoring every possibility. He had to take everything into account – even the possibility of losing Launchpad and Mrs. Beakley. As he approached the hangar, Scrooge prepared himself for one of the most painful conversations he would ever have.

“OY! Launchpad!”

His chauffeur/pilot/literally every other diver under the sun looked up and smiled brightly. “Hey there, Mr. McD!” He wiped the oil onto his hands. “What’s going on?”

“Brought you supper,” he said helpfully.

“Aw, thanks. You didn’t have to.”

Scrooge shrugged. “I wanted to.”

He could do this. He could do this! He had survived the Klondike, supernatural threats, and magical curses. He could have a conversation with Launchpad.

“Eh, Launchpad? Can I talk to you?”

“Sure!” Launchpad smiled. “What’s on your mind?”

Scrooge took in a deep breath. “Uh, how would you feel if I couldn’t…well pay you as much?”

Launchpad shrugged. “That’d be okay.”

“It’s not because I want to,” Scrooge swore. “But…you see, sometimes, well….”

“Gee, Mr. McD, is everything okay?”

“It’s…it’s-“

“If it’s a matter of not being able to keep me around, that’s okay!” Launchpad insisted. “I’ve got a second job in St. Canard. I’ll be fine.”

“No! No, Launchpad, it isn’t this a matter of payroll. It’s just that-“

“Oh no, is it your cash, Mr. McD? Did you lose it all? That’s okay too! You can crash at my place!”

“What?” Scrooge asked, taken aback.

“Yeah! We can be roomies!” LP said happily. “My place isn’t as fancy as your home but there’s plenty of space and it’s got its own hangar and everything.” He slapped Scrooge on the back. “You know what we should do? Go on a little vacation or adventure. I know this pilot in Cape Suzette. He’s one of the best that I know. He’s got the greatest stories that I know – besides yourself of course! Yeah! This will be the best, I-“ Launchpad stopped talking when he saw the devastated look on Scrooge’s face. The older man was on the verge of tears. “Heh, guess I jumped the gun on us being roomies, huh? Didn’t even think about you losin’ your home and stuff. I’m sorry, Mr. McD. That was pretty awful of me.”

Scrooge shook his head. “It isn’t that Launchpad, I…” his voice broke. “You’d really be alright with me moving in?”

“Of course I would!” Launchpad exclaimed. “You’re a great guy! Who wouldn’t want to be your roommate?”

It was this sentiment that Scrooge lost it. He broke down and cried. Launchpad jumped to his feet. “Are you okay? Are you hurt? I’ll go get Mrs. Beakley!”

“NO! No, no, I’m-I’m fine, Launchpad. I’m fine. Thanks though.”

Launchpad wasn’t sure that Scrooge was fine but he shrugged his shoulders anyway. “Sure, Mr. McD. What are friends for?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any ideas on what my next story should be, leave a comment below and I'll be sure to get back to you!


End file.
